


A Singing Bird In An Open Cage

by anything_thats_rock_and_roll



Series: The Sweet Revenge of a Bitter Enemy [3]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Just William Pining, M/M, No sex in this one, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-07 04:17:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anything_thats_rock_and_roll/pseuds/anything_thats_rock_and_roll
Summary: In Season 3, Sophie says she's been to Holland and told William of Orange all about Versailles. This is my version of her story. Sophie flees to Holland after the death of Thomas. William of Orange is predictably interested in the happenings of his enemy's court- or so it seems at first. Eventually, Sophie begins to realize that William is more than a little fixated on King Louis, interested even in details that have little military significance. Could there be something more going on? Title from Walk On by U2.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is mainly dedicated to setting up the situation. I promise things get more interesting in the next chapter!

“I must leave tonight, and I want you to come with me,” Thomas pleaded. Sophie shook her head, eyes darting frantically around the room as she tried to process the scene she’d walked in on. Thomas, her lover, her one spark of light in the incessant darkness of her current life, had been strangling her dying husband, the Duc de Cassel. Despite the fact that she was the one poisoning him, Sophie had been shocked both by Thomas’ violence and by her own sympathy for Cassel.

“Why should I trust you?” she asked.

Thomas’ grip on her arm tightened. “Listen, if they catch me, they will kill me!” he said, instead of answering.

“Why? What have you done?” Sophie demanded. “What kind of outlaw are you?”

“One who knows all about you,” Thomas said in a rushed voice. All traces of warmth had vanished from his eyes, replaced by the cold look of a man who is truly desperate. “I know that your mother conspired against the King for William of Orange.”

“So _that’s _why you befriended me,” she spat. “You’re a spy too.” Sophie found herself more stung by the betrayal of Thomas’ affections than by the idea of treason.

“Yes. But then I fell in love with you. We will be safe at William’s court. Are you coming with me or not?” Thomas demanded. “Sophie. I’ll be in the stables at midnight.” With one fleeting kiss, he fled from the room, leaving her more confused than ever.

Shaking off her daze, Sophie gathered some linens and a pitcher of water. Setting them on the bedside table, she paused to stow some essentials in a knapsack before sitting down at the edge of the bed. Sophie wet a cloth, wiping the blood from Cassel’s lip with a tenderness that surprised herself.

“You have a very soft heart,” said a voice behind her. Though startled, she was not entirely surprised to hear Fabien Marchal’s measured tone.

“Everybody deserves dignity in death,” she responded, without turning around.

“I know what you did. Your name was on the list.” At this, she did stop her motions, turning slowly to look at Fabien. “It has now been erased. Your conscience should remain clean.”

“And what of your conscience? Is that clean?” She stood and faced the man who executed her mother.

“I leave the past behind me. I hope you will do the same. ” Fabien’s eyes burned into hers. Despite herself, Sophie grew warm. She broke his gaze and walked across the room to gather her traveling cloak.

“A word of warning,” Fabien continued. “Your lover may not be the man you think he is.”

“Everybody has their secrets,” she said as she walked out of the room.

\- - - - - -

Stealing towards the stables that night, Sophie wished she could summon the confidence she’d put on earlier. Whatever she’d told Fabien, she was not entirely sure how much she liked the man Thomas was proving to be. And yet still she was determined to leave. The palace at which she had been so anxious to arrive had started to feel more like a snake pit, full of duplicity, danger, and poison.

She peered around the shadowed garden, searching for Thomas’ silhouette. Perhaps life in Holland wouldn’t be so bad. She had been born Protestant, so their religious customs would likely feel more familiar than those here at Versailles. But where was Thomas? Surely he hadn’t left without her. Apprehension began to prickle in her belly.

Then Thomas appeared, striding toward her hurriedly and looking unusually disheveled. Still, she sighed with relief and moved to step toward him.

Suddenly, a loud crack split the night and Thomas was crashing to the ground before her disbelieving eyes. The horse startled behind her, rearing up, but Sophie was oblivious as she knelt at Thomas’ side. As she brushed her lips against his one last time, a steely kind of resolve filled her. Versailles was no longer her home. It was time to move on.

She leapt onto her horse and took off toward the palace gates. Ignoring the shouts of the guards behind her, she urged the horse faster and disappeared into the night.

\- - - - - -

Some days later, Sophie found herself standing before the gates of the Palace of Noordeine. Though it was laughably small and plain compared to the gilded halls of Versailles, it was still substantially more impressive than the convents and taverns that Sophie had frequented on the road. She stood there until some Dutch palace guard finally noticed the unkempt noblewoman in a muddy gown lurking outside the gates.

“I am Sophie de Clermont,” she announced, only to be greeted by blank stares. “Oh Christ,” she muttered. “They don’t speak French here.”

She continued jabbering away in French and unearthed her meager store of coins to display the French currency. Eventually, the guard seemed to understand, for he anxiously called over his fellow soldiers. Speaking menacingly in Dutch, they escorted her into the palace dungeon and left her in a cell.

“Oh well,” Sophie said to herself. “I suppose this must be progress in some sense.”

Innumerable hours passed before the swinging light of a lantern made its way down the hall. Several orange-coated guards clustered around the door of her cell, pulling her to her feet before marching her up and into the main palace. She gave up trying to keep track of the many twists and turns their path took, until she realized that was likely their intention. Finally, she found herself standing before a tall man with short, curled hair and a distinctly boyish face. His eyes, however, were inscrutable as he examined her.

“I am William of Orange,” he declared in perfect French. “Who the hell are you?”

“So this is the man that has all of France shaking in their boots. You are less … imposing than I expected,” Sophie mused. William’s lips quirked into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So impertinent for one who presumably seeks sanctuary in my lands. You should know that there are many ways to achieve and maintain power. Only a few of them require brute force. I ask again: who are you?”

“I am Sophie de Clermont. I come from Versailles, where I no longer wish to remain. Thomas Beaumont told me to come to you for refuge.”

“I see.” William’s face began to show a hint of understanding. “And where is Thomas now?”

“Dead, Your Highness. He was killed just before we were to leave for Holland.”

“Alas, another useful informant struck down. Still, Thomas was hardly my only set of eyes in that French den of iniquity.” William seemed entirely untroubled by this news.

“In fact, I know all about you, Sophie de Clermont,” he continued. “I know that you lied your way into a place at Versailles, I know that you were forced to marry a monster by your ‘noble’ King, and that you poisoned him to escape that marriage. I know that you were a both a source if information and a distraction for my spy, and that you have considerably more knowledge, skills, and wherewithal than you wish anyone to notice. I know that you could prove very dangerous to me, or exceedingly useful. Which shall it be?”

If Sophie was surprised by the extent of William’s knowledge, she didn’t show it.

“Your Highness, I have no allegiance to the court of Versailles. As you say, King Louis placed me in an intolerable situation for his own benefit. My mother was killed by his Head of Security before that. Most recently, I watched my love shot to death on the front lawn. I seek only a place of safety and stability here in Holland. Should it please you, I would happily to share my meager knowledge with you in exchange for such a place.”

William was silent for a long moment. He bit his bottom lip as he seemed to consider her proposition. It made him look even younger, Sophie thought. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, resolve settling in his eyes.

“Very well. I have other matters to attend to at the moment, so you may stay for the time being. You will be given a room in the East Wing. You understand, of course, that you will be confined there by my guards until I have the time to discuss this further, to determine the extent of both your information and your trustworthiness,” William announced. “Welcome to Holland.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next time William called upon her, Sophie was surprised to be led out to the gardens. She appraised him carefully, pleased to find him in an apparently better mood than the last time they met.

“Sophie! I thought you might walk with me today,” he called out, his tone light.

“Of course, Your Highness,” she replied quickly.

“So tell me, what do the gardens of Versailles look like this time of year?” William asked conversationally. They followed a winding creek across the green.

“They are splendid. A new orchard of apple trees was recently planted, and the King ordered orange roses to be planted around all of the fountains in the courtyard.” Sophie answered, perplexed.

“Orange roses, you say?” William chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

“I do not think they were intended to honor you with their color, Your Highness.” Sophie finally got the joke.

“I would not be too sure of that,” William said cryptically, before pressing on. “More importantly, what is the current climate? What is the talk in the salons? How do the people feel about their King?”

“A great change has come over the palace since His Majesty returned from war. He is more centered, more purposeful. He claims to have found great peace, and piety on the battlefield.”

“Fascinating. I suppose war affects us all in different ways. Piety is not what I found myself most gripped by.” William seemed amused once again. Their path looped back on itself, turning back toward the palace. “And what else? What of the King’s mistress, the Marquise de Montespan?”

“She has fallen from favor. Rededicated to his faith, the King has acknowledged his extramarital endeavors to be … unholy. Her disgrace was quite the spectacle.” Sophie answered truthfully, although she could not see why the Stadtholder of Holland might care for the carnal activities of his enemy.

“Indeed. I find that to be most welcome news. To be closer to God is good for everyone, even Catholic heretics.” William appeared far more satisfied than mere religious appreciation could explain. He put a foot on the first of the stone steps that appeared before them. “Alas, we find ourselves at the end of our stroll. As is so often the case, our path has brought us exactly to where we started. This has been a most delightful and enlightening discussion. Good day.”

William climbed the stairs and swept back into the palace, leaving Sophie staring after him. Their discussion had been pleasant enough, but she had not found it enlightening in the slightest. At least she was standing, unaccompanied, in the fresh air of the gardens rather than being escorted back to her rooms. It appeared she had gained at least some measure of trust already.

\- - - - - - 

Some days later, Sophie was summoned again to the throne room for questioning. She wondered how much longer William would keep her here. Surely he’d soon realize how little she knew. She only hoped that would not signal the end of her refuge in Holland.

“What of the financial situation in France?” he asked.

“I really cannot say,” Sophie responded in a bored voice. “People gamble in the salon quite as much as ever, but that is hardly telling. It’s not as if Monsieur Colbert confides in me the royal accounting tallies.”

“And what of Louis’ military plans? Surely the salons are alight with speculation about the outcome of the war,” William pressed.

“You have obviously never spent time in the French court. Most people are far more interested in salacious gossip or the latest fashions than tactics and cannonballs. Unless the war crashes one of their parties, the nobles of France will likely show very little interest.”

A frown grew on William’s lips as his frustration grew. Sophie hoped her lack of information wouldn’t send her back to the streets immediately. She was beginning to rather like William’s court.

Abruptly, his frown evaporated and his eyes cleared. “Very well then. If you can’t tell me anything of obvious value, we shall have to turn to murkier prospects. A lot can be gleaned from the things no one considers worth mentioning.”

Sophie’s brow quirked in confusion. “Such as what, Your Highness?”

“Does the King summon his ministers often?”

“As of late, yes. But he has been without a Minister of Justice in recent weeks.” Sophie chose not to explain that said Minister of Justice was absent due to her own poisoning.

“Ah yes, the late Duc de Cassel,” William shot her a knowing smile. “And what of the King? Does he seem tired? Strained? Does he dress with care, or appear unkempt?”

“His Majesty looks as resplendent as ever. He seems driven, but not overburdened.”

“Does he ever wear an orange ribbon ‘round his cravat?” William asked. He looked surprised to hear the words fall from him own mouth.

“Yes,” Sophie answered cautiously. How could William know that? And why might he care? She thought back to their conversation in the gardens. William had asked strange questions then too.

“He has worn it with unusual frequency recently. So much, in fact, that some members of the court have begun to question his fashion sensibilities,” she exaggerated slightly.

Sophie studied William’s face as he processed this news. A muscle in his cheek tightened almost imperceptibly. His eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners. A possibility began to form in her mind, one so outlandish as to seem impossible.

“You said he has displaced his mistress, the Marquise de Montespan. Does he seek a replacement? All the women at court undoubtedly have designs on him. Is there a frontrunner?” William asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Not as such. The King spends his time with the devout Madame de Maintenon, who seems intent on reminding him that amorous congress belongs only within the confines of marriage. She has claimed his favor, but not his bed.”

William turned away from her, choosing instead to gaze out the window, before speaking again. “And does he ever chose the company of … boys?”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “I am not sure of what you speak,” she stuttered.

That was a lie. All of the disparate puzzle pieces had slotted suddenly into place. Certainty replaced shock as her earlier suspicions came back to mind.

“Really? You live at the same palace as the Duc d’Orleans. Surely this is not a novel concept for you.” William’s voice was tight.

“I… have never heard of … the King … pursuing such activities. Then again, I suppose I wouldn’t,” Sophie answered. Seized by a sudden burst of confidence, she continued. “But you have. You know all about the King’s interests, don’t you? This is not about tactics. This is common jealousy.”

“You do not know of what you speak!” William’s voice was powerful, but his eyes were scared.

“Don’t I though? You gave him that ribbon. He wears it as a symbol of your love, unannounced to the rest of the court. His newfound restraint is not an outpouring of religious devotion. You probably met while at war, spoiling his interest in the women of court.” Sophie spoke hurriedly, enjoying the effect her words had on William.

“And now you fear he will forget you. All alone here in Holland, you hear stories from Versailles. Stories of opulence, beauty, pleasure. And it terrifies you,” she continued.

“Yes.” For once, William’s face was unguarded. Vulnerability shone through the holes Sophie had pierced in his armor. “What man could resist such fear?”

Suddenly, his eyes hardened again. “You understand, of course, that you have just signed your own order of execution. I cannot allow this knowledge to extend beyond this room. A shame. I had high hopes for you, Sophie de Clermont,” William said in a business-like manner.

For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm Sophie. Startled by William’s abrupt change of mood, her eyes widened almost comically. Then she took a breath, searching for the calm and poise she knew could salvage the situation.

“You could,” she shrugged, with distinctly more nonchalance than she felt. “But you would lose a far greater opportunity.” William stared at her, cynicism written across his features.

“You are not in a position to stroll into Versailles and demand to see the King. But I am. I am confident I can recover my position at court, where I can keep tabs on him and subtly remind him of your … association, should you direct me to.”

“You would volunteer to spy for me?” William asked.

“No. I have very little interest in politics, and even less in being executed for treason. I would, however, be willing to assist you in this particular matter.”

“Why?”

“For love, and because I want to keep my head,” Sophie answered truthfully. The words sounded disappointingly insignificant aloud, and she wondered if William would simply kill her anyway.

William studied her for another long moment, before his lips quirked into a humorless smile. “Fine. We shall see how this goes. But do not take this for charity. I find you amusing. Should you become a problem, you will see how fast I can change my mind.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sophie strode purposefully towards the looming gates of Versailles.

“I think you’d probably better arrest me,” she told the guards. She waited patiently as they made a fuss, escorting her noisily down to the dungeons where they waited for Marchal.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Fabian said from behind her.

“Thought? Or hoped?” Sophie said without thinking about it.

“Where were you?”

“Holland. That’s where Thomas told me to go. I was arrested, taken before the Stadtholder, and questioned.” Sophie chose her words carefully. “They asked me all I knew about Versailles and the King, and I told them all I knew. Which wasn’t very much.” It seemed unnecessary to qualify the exact nature of the information she had shared.

“And then?” Fabien stepped closer.

“He asked me whether I’d like to work for him, as a spy.” That wasn’t so far from the truth, though perhaps it did misrepresent the situation somewhat.

The words had their intended effect. “I believe the King would be fascinated to hear about your … vacation,” Fabien said, seizing her by the arm and ascending the stairs out of the dungeon.

“Clear the room,” Fabien declared as they entered the King’s chambers. The door banged against the wall behind them. Louis looked surprised at Marchal’s brazenness, but only watched as his ministers ambled off.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“Our court has received a visitor. Sophie de Clermont has returned from her impromptu holiday. It seems William of Orange thought she would make a fine spy.”

“A spy?” Louis demanded, turning to face Sophie for the first time.

“Yes, sire. I refused.” Sophie held his gaze.

“Why?”

“Why would I serve a man who has already lost?” Sophie smiled slightly as she noticed the orange ribbon that adorned Louis’ neck.

“Is that what you told him?”

“No. I told him I was ill-suited for such work.” Again, close enough to the truth.

“And he released you?” Louis asked, incredulous.

“No, sire. I escaped. The guard was susceptible to my charms,” she invented.

“Bravo. On a wonderful performance.” Louis’ voice dripped with condescension.

“I speak the truth, sire.” Sophie’s bravado folded, a note of panic bleeding into her voice.

“Lock her up!” Louis strode away.

“Then his majesty would not be interested to know that William of Orange sends his very warmest regards? And that he was most pleased to hear about your new instillation of orange roses?” Fabien scoffed and began to pull her out of the room.

Louis stopped mid-step and turned slowly, pivoting on one foot. “What did you say?” he asked, in a low and dangerous voice.

“The Stadtholder was also intrigued by the news of your renewed adherence to the Church’s teachings about the sanctity of marriage.” Sophie cocked her head, silently daring Louis to disregard the knowing edge to her words.

The color drained from Louis’ face. “I would speak with Mademoiselle Clermont in private,” he said, in a tone that made it clear he was trying to maintain control of his emotions. “Fabien? Bontemps?” He gestured to the door.

“Sire?” Bontemps looked truly confused to be dismissed. Louis raised his eyebrows and Bontemps hastened toward the door. Louis followed him, speaking quietly to the guards that flanked the entrance. Sophie heard the click of heels against the hard floor as they too departed.

“What game do you think you’re playing?” Louis rounded on her.

“I do not jest, Your Majesty.”

“What do you know? Tell the truth.” The command rang out in the empty room.

“That’s a dashing ribbon,” Sophie commented. “William was delighted to hear that you enjoyed his gift.”

Louis looked as if he’d been punched. “I should have you executed,” he whispered.

“But you won’t,” Sophie informed him, “For the same reason William chose not to. I can be very useful, but more so with my head still attached.”

Louis gaped at her, speechless, so Sophie continued. “You two should really stay better in touch. William was positively pining. He seemed to think you might have forgotten him since returning from the front.”

With visible effort, Louis unstuck his tongue. “How could you know?” he wondered. “William would never…” He trailed off, horrorstruck at the prospect of such a betrayal.

“I guessed,” Sophie reassured him quickly. “It wasn’t terribly hard, given the way he talked about you.” Louis stared at her, eyes slightly unfocused.

“He did? What did he say? Is he well?” Louis’ eyes shone.

“He seems lonely. He misses you. But otherwise, in good health. He said to tell you it amuses him that the battlefield brought you closer to God than did a convent.”

Louis’ eyes darkened. “You can tell William that I have never been closer to God than in that convent,” he said with a smirk.

\- - - - - - 

Sophie walked up the stone steps of the Palace of Noordeine. She strode past the guards without pausing, straight to the garden, where she plucked a single orange rose. Leaving it in front of the door she knew led to William’s chambers, she returned to the courtyard to wait beside a bubbling fountain.


End file.
